Just a Kid from Brooklyn
by Darth Tromeros
Summary: Set after unfreezing. Steve has a hard time being Captain America and instead feels like a kid from Brooklyn. The description sucks but you should read it anyway.


As the outside world flew past his window, he felt it.

* * *

He had been frozen for seventy years. That meant for over seventy years he had been known as Captain America. He had been known as strong and brave and bold. He was the Star-Spangled Man with the Plan. He _was _America.

Expectations made him to be just that. He couldn't necessarily say he was forced; after all, he wanted to be that. He wanted to be the man people wanted and looked up too, but not for that reason. The only thing that drove him was the little guys. He was a little guy, bullied and overlooked for years. He supposed you could say that he represented not just America, but them. The people want to fight but can't. The people who couldn't stand up for themselves and be heard.

And once again, he was America.

He had to sacrifice himself for America, and that he did.

But now, after the threats were past and things he changed, he didn't know what to do. The spirit of America seemed to disappear as he did over those seven decades. It felt strange, being the only person so passionate about doing what was right. It was bad enough he was so behind with events that had happened and technology, but nothing stressed him out more than that. It didn't really stress him; it disappointed him more than anything. Disappointed him that if he put on his suit and walked through the streets, people would think he was a freak show. Disappointed him that people could care less about what was happening to others and that they wouldn't help.

Disappointed for the first time in America.

* * *

They had handed him her file, the same way they had handed his to her. With trembling fingers, he opened the manila folder. He saw her face, her young, beautiful face. The picture comforted him yet tore him apart. Her picture was the only thing familiar to him in the strange new world, but at the same time reminded him that things weren't the same. Like a cruel note that jeered at him and wouldn't let him forget his past even though he couldn't ever get back.

As his face grew warm, he looked down and saw her information. She had gotten married and had a daughter and a son. It consoled him to know she had moved on and created a nice life for herself, but it also made him feel empty and almost betrayed. The one girl that had actually liked him—no, loved him, kissed him, spoke the last words to him before he went under with a different man he didn't know.

He broke in his apartment as he studied the folder. The agency had let it take it with him, most likely because they knew. He thought he could see the sympathy on the secretary's face as he left the building.

He had been strong the whole time. Time flew as he studied the file, reading over it over and over again. He ended up again on Peggy's picture. Timidly, he brought his forefinger to her face, as if he were afraid some was going to catch him doing a silly thing as caressing a picture, but that he did.

The tears came back to his eyes and he fell apart.

His vision blurred severely, to a point where he could barely see his own two hands. The tears poured down his cheeks and off his face, soaking through his pants and shirt. He clutched the papers to his chest, sobbing, attempting to call out names through a clenched throat. The words that came out were hoarse and high-pitched.

He sat on his bed, the paper wrinkling underneath his tight grasp, growing damp with tears. Although he knew the paper wasn't a real person, he tried to get any comfort from it. When he found he couldn't, he threw it on his dresser and fell back onto his bed.

"Stop it, Steve," he told himself, clenching his fists. "Stop it. Stop being stupid. Stop crying and deal with it."

Determined, he blinked a few times, wiping his eyes and breathing heavily. Standing up from the bed, he grabbed a jacket and left his apartment, going somewhere else.

If you were to ask him, he wouldn't have told you anything, because he didn't even know where he was going. He kept his eyes on the ground, wiping them still when he was sure nobody was around to see. All he knew was that he needed to go somewhere else, somewhere where he could escape the feelings of loneliness and emptiness.

His feet took him to the subway. He didn't even know what route he took or how long it had been, but he ended up boarding the subway.

Finding an empty seat, he sat there. People around him either sat, glued to what he was told was called a "cell phone", with cords attached to it and thing placed in their ears. He assumed they were a type of earpiece. Turning away from that, others were chatting among themselves, laughing loudly.

It reminded him he had nobody.

He sat alone, shoulders hunched over, hands interlocked and fingers twiddling with each other, face reflecting the feelings of solitude within.

From one glance, you would have never guessed he was Captain America. From one glance, you would never know exactly how overwhelmed he was, how lonely he felt. From one glance, you would never know how hard it was to comprehend what he was going too.

As the outside world flew past his window, he felt it.

* * *

Never before had Steve Rogers ever felt so weak.

He was just a kid from Brooklyn.

If even that.


End file.
